Troubles of Their Own
by Alexiah Rose
Summary: As tragedy looms over Dublin, Peter and Assumpta's troubles are about to become a little more complicated...
1. Chapter 1

_Hey again :) This one's probably a bit out there haha, but oh well. Sure, isn't that what fiction's for?  
Don't be too concerned about the political stuff. It's not that central to the story - more a means to an end. ;)_

**Troubles of Their Own**

**Chapter One**

Assumpta doubted whether anyone was glad to have her back behind the bar... Well, there was that travelling businessman who, despite her obvious repulsion, had been most determined to flirt with her all evening. A glance in his direction confirmed that he'd now become so drunk that sleeping with his face in a pool of spilled stout on the bar seemed a perfectly reasonable course of action. Niamh was glad too, she supposed, but mostly because she was now free from her bar keeping responsibilities. The regulars, however, were not so pleased. They much preferred Niamh's smiling face to Assumpta's 'perpetual bad mood and general unpleasantness'; they'd made that much obvious in the three days since she'd returned from London.

Sighing, Assumpta wondered why she'd even bothered to come back to Ballykissangel. What was there to stay for, after all? She'd asked herself the same question a few months earlier, when she was considering moving to Dublin. Then, her answer had taken the form of a pair of breathtakingly deep eyes that had stared piercingly into her own and declared, "I care about you". She snorted scornfully at the memory. No, he didn't care about her. He didn't want her; he had made that perfectly clear.

But, in London, there was someone who did want her, someone who would do absolutely anything to be with her. She knew that; he'd told her that, time and time again. So, why didn't it make her feel any better? When she'd been there with him, showered with his constant attention and assurances of love, she'd been able to smile. She'd almost been able to convince herself that she was truly happy, that this was what she wanted. But, back in this place, surrounded by so many reminders of what she was trying so hard to forget, Assumpta was finding it increasingly difficult to believe that Leo's love was enough.

'Hey, Sunshine!' called Brendan, sarcastically, snapping Assumpta out of her thoughtful trance, 'Where's Niamh tonight?'  
Her reply was delivered with an equal measure of sarcasm.  
'Oh, she's probably sitting around with a box of tissues lamenting the fact that she no longer gets to spend her evenings staring at your gorgeous face, Brendan.'  
'Oh, that's lovely, that is!'  
'But really, Assumpta, where is she?' Siobhan asked. 'I haven't seen her or Ambrose all day.'  
'She'd be helping Ambrose pack for Dublin, I expect - making sure he matches all his socks to his underwear...'  
'Ambrose is off to Dublin?'  
'Yeah, on Monday. He's been called up there, along with loads of other village gards. They're trying to maintain a strong street presence, because of all the unrest.'  
'Oh, yeah,' Padraig piped up, 'I've been hearing all about it on the radio. There's been bomb threats and all, apparently.'  
'From whom?' asked Siobhan.  
'Pfft. Whom do you think?' scoffed Brendan.  
'But... bombing? That's not really their style, is it? And why Dublin?'  
'Well, my guess is that they want to scare us out of supporting the fight in the North. They'd be hard pressed if it wasn't for help from down here...official or otherwise... But they won't do anything – too risky. It's a lot of talk from a couple of extremists, I'd say.'

The discussion was continued with great interest, but Assumpta preferred to go and mop up near her friend the sleepy businessman. Usually, she'd be the first one to loudly air her opinions on all things political, especially something as unusual as this, but she just didn't have the strength, tonight. She knew it was probably selfish, but she thought she had enough troubles of her own, without taking on those of the entire country.

* * *

Despite the fine weather, there was nothing pleasant about being outside. The streets were scattered with gards, and a sort of ominous anxiety hung in the air. This, Peter thought resentfully, was not what he'd pictured when Father Mac had suggested he go on retreat. There must have been dozens of peaceful, lovely retreat venues across Ireland's beautiful countryside, but our beloved and ever-frugal Father Mac evidently thought that a cheap Dublin seminary would do just nicely. Peter couldn't even stay on site. He and the other priests in the retreat program had been booked rooms in a nearby hotel, because the seminarians occupied all the beds in the dormitories.

Still, it wasn't all bad. The mentor assigned to Peter, Father Gillan, was a gentle man of about sixty-five, who seemed genuinely interested in giving wise counsel to the priests in his care. Peter liked Father Gillan, and had been able to share openly about his struggles in a way he hadn't expected. Not surprisingly, Father Gillan had encountered such problems many times before, and was well versed in helping young men figure out the difference between mere temptation to be fled and a more serious problem. The seminary did have nice grounds, too, and Peter had grown fond of a particular bench by a small brook, made almost private by a couple of large willow trees which partly obscured it from view. It was here he sat to reflect and pray, and it was here he had written the letter now in his hand.

Stopping at the small post office halfway between his hotel and the seminary, Peter regarded the letter. The handwriting in which he had addressed it was sloppy; he'd done it hastily, wanting to get the thing posted before he had a chance to change his mind. Now, he hesitated, wondering whether Father Gillan's advice had been wrong. Shaking his mind free of the thought, he quickly dropped the letter into the post box and walked away.

With a few free hours to pass before he had to be back at the seminary for the evening session, Peter searched for a way to distract himself from the letter. Sitting on the bed in his hotel room, he switched on the TV. More about the possible outbreak of violence... Peter had initially thought it was all just media hype, but, judging by the amount of police officers about, he guessed there must be some real concern. He offered up a quick prayer, lay back on the bed, and exhaled heavily. Not wanting to hear any more, Peter switched off the TV. His own troubles were quite enough for today.

* * *

It had been a quiet Sunday evening in Fitzgerald's. The businessman had moved on, leaving only Siobhan, Brian, Donal, Liam and a quite jittery Niamh.  
'I've told Ambrose I don't want him to go tomorrow. Sure, what if he should die, and leave Kieran orphaned and me widowed and destitute? But he doesn't care about that. He seems to think it's some great honour that he's been called to help protect his country. Well, what about protecting his family?'  
'Niamh, Ambrose is not going to die,' said an exasperated Assumpta. 'Look, it's like Brendan said, it's all just a bunch of talk. Ambrose will go on up there, parade around the streets of Dublin feeling very important, and be back here by Friday when it's all blown over. So stop worrying, okay?'  
Niamh pouted.  
'Okay?' Assumpta repeated.  
'Okay.'  
Assumpta fetched Niamh another drink, and a lazy silence set in as everyone became lost in their own thoughts.

A few minutes later, a breathless Padraig burst through the door.  
'They've... they've done it!' he panted.  
'Who's done what, man?' asked Brian, impatiently.  
'They've done it!' Padraig repeated. 'Turn on your radio, Assumpta.'  
Assumpta complied, worried by Padraig's panic-stricken expression.  
The pub was silent except for Padraig's laboured breathing and the grim voice of the news anchor on the radio.  
'Official reports confirm that explosives have been detonated at three separate locations in Dublin city, this evening. The significance of, and connection between, these locations is unknown. The locations of the incidents are as follows: the Griffin Park Garda Station, Saint Gabriel's Seminary, and Sacred Heart General Hospital. The extent of the devastation caused is still being determined, but at least four deaths have been confirmed.'

Everyone was too shocked to speak, except for Brian.  
'Did she say Saint Gabriel's Seminary?'  
No one responded.  
'Only, that sounds awfully familiar. Did Father Mac go through there?'  
'Does it matter, Brian?' asked Siobhan, irritably.  
'No... no, I suppose not.'  
They all sipped their drinks pensively, while listening to the live coverage on Assumpta's radio.  
Suddenly, recognition sparked in Brian's eyes, and the colour drained from his face. He brought his hand to his mouth, and said, very quietly,  
'I know why Saint Gabriel's sounds familiar. It's where Father Clifford's gone for his retreat.'

Everyone froze. Assumpta felt sure she'd be sick. She completely forgot how to breathe, and had to grasp hold of the bar for support, to stop herself from collapsing. Padraig began making his way around the bar to help her, but he didn't get the chance. Before anyone really knew what was happening, Assumpta had grabbed her coat and keys, and made for her car.

They were probably shouting after her, but she didn't hear them. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart and that awful news anchor on the car radio.


	2. Chapter 2

_Stick with me, guys! It will get more normal, I promise ;P_

**Chapter Two**

Assumpta could barely see for all the smoke and the people frantically scrambling to find out if their beloved sons and brothers were okay. Ambulances and fire engines were everywhere, their sirens creating a horrific noise rivalled only by the ringing in Assumpta's ears. A large tent had been set up near the seminary's main gates, and this was where panicking families were sent to enquire about their loved ones. Most people had escaped from the building, they were told, and had registered on the list of survivors. Another list, marked 'missing', held the names of those who remained unaccounted for.

Waiting in line at the tent for an agonising twenty minutes, Assumpta looked anxiously about her. She knew she had no right to be here, among the terrified mothers, grandmothers, fathers, sisters... She had no claim on the knowledge of Peter's fate. What was she to him, anyway? The keeper of his local bar? His friend? Even she didn't know. But there was no one else to come for him; his family was in England, and flights would probably be cancelled for days...

A middle-aged woman to Assumpta's left let out a long, loud wail. Her son, it seemed, hadn't registered on the survivors list. Shuddering, Assumpta looked away. She turned her eyes, instead, on a mother and father enveloping their son, a young seminarian, in a desperate hug, crying in their thankfulness that he was safe.

'Yes, ma'am?'  
A weary looking ambulance officer was calling to Assumpta from behind a table in the tent. She had reached the front of line. It was her turn. Her legs turned to jelly as she made her way, terrified, to the table, and told the officer Peter's name.  
She told herself not to worry, that he would be fine. They'd said most people had made it out, hadn't they?  
But, as Assumpta knew too well, Peter Clifford was not 'most people'.  
'I'm sorry, ma'am. He's not on our list.'  
Assumpta's face, pale before, now took on a sickly green shade, and her breath left her again. This time, however, there was no bar to support her. She shakily made her way over to lean against a tree, and sank down to the ground.

From this position, she had a perfect view of the building. Despite the efforts of many black silhouettes which she assumed to be fire fighters, Saint Gabriel's still burned.  
Was Peter in there? Was he struggling to get out? Or was he already...?  
Tears began rolling down her cheeks.  
Had he died thinking she was angry with him? Had he died thinking of her at all? Or had he succeeded to forget all about her, like Father Mac had told him to?

Through her tears, she could see one of the black silhouettes moving toward her... probably to tell her she wasn't allowed to sit so close to the fire. Hugging her knees, she brought her head to rest on them, and squeezed her eyes shut. If she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her, and maybe he'd leave her alone.

The silhouette's voice came soft and wistful.  
'Assumpta?'  
Her head shot up.  
'Peter?'  
She stood to look him over, making sure that it was really him.  
Peter was alive, but it was anger, not joy, that immediately filled Assumpta. She hit him in the chest as hard as she possibly could in her current, shaken state.  
'What the hell is wrong with you?' she shouted, her face reddening, 'Survivors are supposed to register at the ambulance tent by the gate! You were supposed to register at the tent, Peter!'  
She hit him again.  
'I thought you were dead!'  
She was furious. How could he do that to her? How could he put her through that? How hard was it to put your name on a damn list to say you're alive?  
Assumpta looked up at Peter's face, fully prepared to deliver her most wrathful glare. But, with one look at his sad, sympathetic eyes, she dissolved into tears.  
'I thought you were dead,' she repeated, softly.

Peter was absolutely overcome with emotion. She had come... She had come all this way in the middle of the night to find him. And she had been so scared.  
He stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around her.  
'Shhh,' he whispered into her hair, 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...'  
All the anger left Assumpta, and she savoured the feeling of being in Peter's arms... something she had thought, not five minutes ago, that she would never, ever experience. He held her while she cried, and, gradually, he felt her breathing steady.  
'Are you alright?' she asked him, pulling away to look at him properly.  
'I'm fine.'  
'But, you've got...' Assumpta's face turned white again, as she noticed the blood on Peter's shirt.  
'It's not mine,' he assured her, gently taking her hand.

They both jumped, as an entire wall of Saint Gabriel's crumbled with a loud bang, spilling pieces of burning material all across the grass. Panic suddenly gripped Peter, as he thought of a thousand chilling scenarios... What if there was another explosion? What if the people who did this returned, armed with guns to aim at the growing crowd?  
'You have to get out of here,' he said to Assumpta, 'It's not safe for you.'  
'Well, it's not safe for you, either,' she replied, indignantly.  
'Assumpta, there are still people in there. I have to go and help.'  
'No, you don't!' she said, clearly thinking this a ridiculous notion, 'I'm not going anywhere without you.'  
Peter took the key to his hotel room from his pocket, and pressed it into Assumpta's hand.  
'Here, take this. Go to the Brogan Street Hotel, and wait for me. You'll be safe there. I'll only be about an hour.'  
'Not a chance.'  
Never had he found Assumpta's stubbornness more infuriating. There was only one thing for it.  
'Look, Assumpta, I don't want you here okay? So just clear off.'  
Some of the fire returned to Assumpta's eyes. She immediately knew that he'd only said it to get her to leave, but, still, it did hurt.  
'Fine,' she spat, and walked away.

As Peter watched her go, a lump formed in his throat. Walking back toward the flaming building, he tried to fight his growing dread and the nagging feeling that he'd just made a huge mistake... that he'd never see her again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

In Peter's hotel room, Assumpta paced back and forth, anxiously searching for something to distract herself. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 3:46am. The 'hour' Peter was going to take had long passed, and Assumpta began to wonder whether she'd been too quick to take comfort in his safety. She heard an ambulance come wailing past - the fourth one in ten minutes - and collapsed helplessly onto the bed. She closed her eyes, and tried unsuccessfully to switch off her mind.

It was 4:13 when he finally knocked on the door. Assumpta rose to open it.  
'You said you'd only be an hour,' she said, accusingly.  
A completely exhausted and dishevelled Peter moved past her into the room.  
'Don't, Assumpta. Please.'  
He flopped down onto the bed. His arm was bandaged, and he had a dressing on his head.  
'You've been at the hospital,' Assumpta guessed.  
'Yeah.'  
'Are you okay?'  
'Yeah. Just cuts and bruises, and a couple of burns.' He shrugged.  
Assumpta sat down next to him.  
'And the others? I mean, did everyone make it out okay?'  
Peter sighed. 'Well, everyone made it out, but not everyone's okay.' He turned to look at her. 'No one's dead, if that's what you mean.'  
'Well, that's good news, isn't it?'  
'I guess. I'd be surprised if some of them make it through the night, though. The state they were in, Assumpta...'  
Tears began to fall from Peter's weary eyes, and Assumpta reached over to brush them away with her thumb.  
'Hey...' she said, in the sweetest and most gentle voice Peter had ever heard, 'I'm sure they'll pull through. They're in good hands, now.'  
Peter managed a sad smile, which Assumpta returned.

Their eyes locked, and in their gaze was an unspoken agreement to forget their complicated reality, all the confused feelings and unspoken words between them, the ugly truths that awaited them back in Ballykissangel. Just for tonight, they'd forget all that, and just be thankful that God had allowed them to be here, alive, together.

'You should get some sleep,' Assumpta said.  
'So should you.'  
'Do you want me to go?' she asked, although she already knew – or hoped she knew – the answer.  
'No, please don't. It's not safe out there.'  
_And I need you, _he wanted to add.  
'Okay. So, I'll just stay then...' she said, questioningly.  
Peter smiled in reply.

'I'd better have a shower,' he said, gathering his stuff, and heading to the small bathroom. He paused, as a thought struck him.  
'Ah... If you need something to... wear... just help yourself,' he said, nervously, gesturing to his suitcase.  
Assumpta raised her eyebrows. 'Oh yeah, I've heard vestments are the latest trend in sleepwear chic.'  
But, once Peter was safely out of sight, she went over to his things. Not really thinking she should spend too long going through his suitcase, she picked up the first suitable thing she found, and got changed.

Emerging from the bathroom dressed in sweatpants and a grey T-shirt, Peter caught sight of Assumpta, and stopped dead in his tracks. She was standing at the window, wearing his navy blue knitted jumper (which, of course, fit her like an oversized woollen dress) and the pair of black opaque tights she'd been wearing under her skirt that day.

She turned to face him, and said, 'I look like some sort of giant smurf.'  
All Peter could manage was a wobbly smile in response. What was it that was so alarmingly attractive about seeing her in his clothes? He started to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea, but – he glanced at the bed – he really was knackered... not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. He was sure that Assumpta was too. They were in no real danger, tonight.

Peter turned off the light, and climbed into bed. Assumpta climbed in, too, but, still sitting up, she turned to look at Peter in the dim street light flooding through the curtains, biting her lip apprehensively. He smiled, opening his arms to her.  
'Come on, then.'  
She settled into his arms, and rested her hand on his chest. He placed one hand on her waist and the other over her own, lacing their fingers together.  
'How are you feeling?' Assumpta whispered.  
She knew how deeply Peter cared about others, how much he felt their pain. She knew that the day's events would be weighing heavily on his heart.  
'Oh, I'm feeling about a million different things right now, Assumpta,' Peter whispered back.  
'Like?'  
'Like that you look incredibly beautiful as a giant smurf.'  
'Peter!' she said, admonishingly.  
'Okay, okay.' He thought in silence for a few moments. 'I just... I just don't understand why God would let this happen...'  
'No. Neither do I,' Assumpta replied. Then, after a pause, 'But maybe it's none of our business.'  
'What?'  
'"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." – Jeremiah, chapter 29... He knows the plan... It doesn't mean we get to.'  
Assumpta couldn't see Peter's face, but she knew it would bear a rather shocked expression.  
'That's right,' she said, indignantly, 'I know things.'  
'You surprise me.'  
'Do I?'  
Peter squeezed her hand. 'Constantly.'  
Assumpta smiled. 'Goodnight, Peter.'  
'Goodnight, Assumpta.'

Assumpta guessed that Peter didn't sleep much at all, because, every time she woke during the night, he'd be rhythmically rubbing her back or stroking her hair. As lovely as it was, she wished he could get some rest. It was almost sunrise before they were both sleeping soundly.

Mid-morning sunlight was streaming through the window when Peter opened his eyes, still dazed, somewhere between awake and asleep. Glancing over, he saw a sleeping Assumpta lying next to him.  
_Oh,_ he thought with a smile,_ it must be a dream._  
Dreams were delightful. He could do anything he wanted, without having to worry about pesky things like consequences.

He reached out for Assumpta, and woke her with a soft kiss. Some wonderful mixture of perfect peace and electric alertness coursed through his body. There was something so much sweeter about this kiss than any he'd dreamed before.  
Rising out through layers of sleep, Assumpta assumed the mouth on hers must be Leo's. She opened her eyes, ready to deliver a grouchy "Not now, Leo", but the scene before her made the previous night's events come flooding quickly back to her memory. It wasn't Leo at all, it was...  
'Peter,' she whispered, running her hands through his hair as she returned his kisses.

As Peter moved closer to her, they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. He pulled sharply back. This never happened in his dreams...  
'Ignore it,' Assumpta whispered, pulling him helplessly back to her.  
But their visitor persisted.  
'I'll get rid of them,' Peter said, and, putting on a dressing gown, he went to answer the door. Assumpta sat up in the bed, running her hands through her hair in exasperation. A wall obscured her from the view of whomever was at the door. She heard Peter open it and then loudly exclaim what was probably the last word in the universe she wanted to hear at that moment.

'Leo!'


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Panicking, Assumpta rapidly scanned the room for somewhere to hide, but it was too late. Leo was already pushing past Peter and into the room, chatting cheerfully.

'How are ya, Father? I've been sent to cover the bombings, but you've figured that out yourself, of course. Anyway, I was looking over the list of survivors, and I spotted a familiar name. I thought, "Who better to give me an honest account – "'

Leo utterly froze when he saw her, his face reflecting confusion at first.  
_'Assumpta?'  
_She felt like a schoolgirl who had been caught cheating on a math test... only, it wasn't math she'd been cheating. She merely gaped at him, struggling desperately to find some words to rescue herself, Leo, all of them, but none came.

Assumpta watched every muscle in Leo's body tense up with anger, as realisation dawned. In one swift movement, Leo had Peter slammed against the wall. He was holding his right arm firmly against Peter's neck, pinning him there, and his face, growing redder by the second, was poised ready to shout innumerable threats and obscenities.

'It's not what it looks like, Leo,' said Peter, who was making a visible effort to remain calm.  
Leo pressed his arm further into Peter's neck, and moved closer, so that their faces were almost touching.  
'It had bloody well better not be what it looks like!' he shouted, 'Because it _looks_ like you've had my girl in your bed, _Father _Clifford!_'_  
_'Your_ girl?'  
What did he mean, "his girl"? She hadn't been his girl since they were in college... Had she?  
Confused, Peter looked questioningly past Leo to the beautiful woman, still in his bed, who had turned a sickly shade of grey.  
'Assumpta?'

They were both looking expectantly at her, now... these two men – probably the two most significant men in her life. Their eyes conveyed equal hurt, equal confusion, though Leo looked considerably more like he might be about to do someone or something some serious damage. Assumpta knew that she could only come out of this with one of them, and she had only a split second to decide.

She allowed her eyes to linger on Peter's for just a moment longer, before turning them swiftly away.  
'Leo, I can explain...'

* * *

In the park down the street, Assumpta stumbled as she tried to keep up with Leo. She had found him leaning dejectedly against the wall of the hotel lobby, when she had rushed down after changing. He had silently stalked off to the park, not protesting when Assumpta followed him. Now, after several minutes of seething, silent walking, Leo sank down at the base of a large tree, and looked wordlessly up at Assumpta.  
Assumpta, who had had time to think over what she would say, sat tentatively down beside him.

'Leo, you have to understand -'  
'I do _not_ have to understand.'  
'Just hear me out! It was a crazy night, last night. No one was in their right mind... Peter had seen a bunch of his friends brought near to death by that fire. He was in a bad way. He needed a friend.'  
'And you just happened to be conveniently in Dublin?'  
'No... I drove up when I heard what had happened.'  
'_Oh_, well isn't that lovely? You were so worried about your charming local curate that you decide to drive into a disaster zone...'  
'We were all worried, Leo.'  
'I don't see you walking into any death traps for me,' he continued, sulkily.  
'Leo, you know I would have come for you,' Assumpta said, softly.  
At the warmth of her tone and the meaning of her words, Leo could feel his heart coming dangerously close to melting. How could she do that to him so easily?

Determined, he set his jaw.  
'Fine, so, everyone was worried, you came, he was a bit sad, so you decided to sleep with him? Yeah, that's one way to fix it.'  
Assumpta opened her mouth to speak, but then paused. She was going to say "nothing happened", but that wasn't strictly true, was it?  
'I didn't have sex with him.'  
It sounded so blunt and vulgar, out loud. She flushed with shame at landing herself in a situation which required her to defend herself with that sentence.  
Leo looked down at the ground, and sighed. Assumpta reached out and took his hand.  
'You do believe me, don't you?'  
He gave a slight nod.

The pair sat a while in silence, still holding hands. Then, Leo spoke up.  
'I quit my job, you know.'  
'What?'  
'This is my last story. I sold my apartment, too.'  
He gazed into her eyes. She could still see traces of pain and uncertainty in his face.  
'Why?' she whispered.  
'So I could be with you.'

Well, that was it, then. She didn't have to choose; it was all decided for her. Even after finding her in another man's bed, Leo was there, loving her, giving up his whole life for her, asking to be hers. Peter was not. Peter never would be, never could be. It was as simple as that. She should feel relieved...

But, as Leo leaned in and kissed her, pressing his lips to where Peter's had been not an hour before, Assumpta couldn't quite convince her heart not to sink.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

'You take care of yourself, okay Tom? It was great to hear from you.'  
Peter tried to sound cheerful as he bid his friend goodbye, and hung up the phone. He had helped Tom out of the lower floor of Saint Gabriel's as it burned, and the young priest from Wexford had just called with the news that he'd been released from hospital at last, almost three weeks later.

There had been only one death at Saint Gabriel's – an aged bishop who had been suffering with lung disease for a number of years. There was still a handful of victims from the seminary attack being looked after in intensive care, and quite a few in the burns unit, but it looked like they were all going to make it through. It was great news, Peter knew; they had been very blessed. Still, it did little enough to lift his spirits.

Most of the parishioners at Saint Joseph's had noticed that Father Peter hadn't been the same since returning from Dublin. He seemed quiet and defeated, slightly apathetic and even a little scathing at times. The lively glint in his eye was gone, and, it seemed, his hope along with it. Naturally, they assumed he was still suffering the effects of his traumatic experience of the attack... But, most of the time – Peter reproached himself for being so selfish – the bombing was not what plagued his mind. No, it was more to do with the shiny sports car perpetually stationed outside Fitzgerald's, and the smug owner whose presence it betrayed.

He hadn't heard from her – not a single word, since the night they'd spent together. Leo had come barging in, and she'd just run off after him, without a single glance back at the priest, confused and crumbling, that she was leaving behind. Peter had returned to Ballykissangel the next day, only to find that detestable car looking so out of place on the quaint and charming street. He learned from Niamh that, after Assumpta had spent several weeks with him in London, Leo had decided to pack up at move to Ballyk. Several weeks. So she had left, what? The day he went on retreat? His blood boiled and melted his heart at the thought of it, and at the thought of the two of them, together, now, just a few yards down the road.

Every now and then, a little voice of reason popped up in Peter's head, saying _'Maybe it's for the best. Maybe they'll be happy together. Don't you want Assumpta to be happy? And you can finally just get on with doing your job, without all this wondering about her.' _Maybe the voice was right. Maybe he needed to move on. She certainly had. And Peter missed her. Sure, seeing her with Leo tore his heart in two, but not having her in his life at all would damn near kill him. He shuddered at the thought of being nothing more than an acquaintance to Assumpta, of watching her spend all her days with Leo, of christening – or, perhaps, not christening – MacGarvey children. But the thought of never seeing her smile or laugh or shout or rant ever again was so much worse. So, when Michael came around and asked very sensitively (so sensitively, in fact, that Peter was sure the quiet doctor knew the real cause of his troubles) if Peter wouldn't come for a drink in Fitzgerald's, he hesitantly agreed.

Assumpta, midway through pulling a pint for Brendan, froze momentarily upon seeing Peter follow Michael through the door. The glass overflowed, spilling Guinness all over her red cardigan. She was glad; it gave her an excuse to get out of the room. She ran upstairs to change, trying to decide what she should be feeling. The emotion that kept cropping up was guilt. She splashed cold water on her flushed cheeks, hoping to chase away the redness, and the feeling too. She had no reason to feel guilty, she reminded herself. She had done nothing wrong. Taking a deep breath, and squaring her shoulders, Assumpta headed back downstairs.

It was Michael who came to the bar to order.  
'What can I get you, Doc?'  
'Just two pints of lager, thanks Assumpta.'  
She set about making their drinks,  
'Peter and I are celebrating,' said Michael, cheerfully.  
'Oh yeah?'  
'He's just been telling me that the young man he rescued from the seminary has been released from hospital.' He gave a little chuckle. 'How about that, eh? Our own curate rescuing people from burning buildings! A real life hero, is he not?'  
Assumpta risked a quick glance at Peter, who was sitting at a table in the far corner, staring at his hands.  
'Yeah,' she said quietly, handing Michael their pints.

Assumpta managed to make herself look busy. Her eyes occasionally flickered over to Peter's table, and he always managed to avert his own gaze away from her just in time – he was well versed in that. They continued in this old game of theirs until, around ten minutes later, Leo came waltzing in through the front door. Making his way around the bar, he said loudly, 'And how's my lovely lady, this fine evening?'  
Assumpta became unusually interested in her bar mat, but Leo didn't notice. He gazed smilingly around the pub, until his eyes met Peter's, and he scowled.

Moving closer to Assumpta, he said in a low but forceful voice, 'What the hell is he doing here?'  
Assumpta scoffed.  
'It's a free country, Leo.'  
'No thanks to his kind.'  
_'Leo!'  
_Leo's fists clenched. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to see the back of this trouble-maker of a priest. He had never questioned Assumpta about her feelings for Peter. Quite frankly, he didn't want to know. But he knew that something had happened between them – sure, hadn't he found them in bed together? – and he hated the priest for occupying any of the space in her head which was rightfully his own.

As he turned back to lock eyes with Peter, Leo's scowl shifted into a smug smile, as he very deliberately moved behind Assumpta, sliding his arms around her waist. He raised a meaningful eyebrow at Peter before leaning in to kiss Assumpta's cheek. Assumpta made sure to look anywhere but at Peter's face, as the guilty blush returned to her own. When she thought she could safely disentangle herself from Leo's arms without causing a fight, she looked over to see the door swing shut, and Peter's seat sitting empty across from a glum Doctor Ryan**.**

* * *

As Leo snored beside her, Assumpta's eyes were wide open. Try as she might, she couldn't stop her mind from replaying the same scenes over and over... the empty seat by Michael; Peter's face as she'd walked out after Leo that day in Dublin; how tightly he'd held her at the seminary, when she'd been so sure he was dead; how she'd cried when he left for retreat, telling her "This is it"; the warmth of his hand on hers the night of the protest... She couldn't leave things the way they were. After everything... he at least deserved an explanation.

Hastily, before allowing herself to think better of it, Assumpta got up and dressed. She made her way through the cold and the misty rain, in the direction of Saint Joseph's.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

When she arrived at Peter's front garden, Assumpta suddenly realised what a stupid idea it was to go waking him at half-one in the morning to have this particular discussion. She was on the verge of turning back, when she noticed a soft light shining from the windows of the church beyond.

She walked over, and entered silently and timidly through the open door. There he was, leaning against a railing, seeming very small as he tilted his head up to look to the large statue of the Blessed Virgin. He hadn't heard Assumpta come in.

Wringing her hands awkwardly, Assumpta thought of how best to initiate the conversation... Under normal circumstances, she would have jokingly mocked him, and watched his mouth curl up into a smile he couldn't repress. But things were more complicated now. She decided to tread more carefully.

'I hear she's a good listener.'

Peter's body immediately tensed up at the sound of her voice, but he didn't speak nor turn around.  
Assumpta sighed.  
Of course, he wasn't going to make this easy.  
She moved up the aisle, closer to where Peter was standing.

'Look... I just wanted to apologise... for what happened in the bar. For Leo.'  
Peter continued to stare straight ahead at the statue, and said coldly,  
'Forget it.'  
'I just... I don't want you to feel unwelcome... to avoid the place. You haven't been in in weeks. I... I miss you.'  
Peter scoffed, scornfully.  
'Yeah, well, you made your choice.'

Assumpta was astounded, and instantly infuriated.  
'_Excuse me?_' she spat, '_I _made my choice? What choice? You didn't give me a choice, Peter!'  
'Oh, right, and I suppose I made you go running off after Leo in Dublin without so much as a word to me? That seemed like a pretty clear choice to me, Assumpta.'  
'And what would've happened if I stayed?' Assumpta felt her cheeks burning and tears threatening to escape her eyes. 'How long would it have been before you ran away from me again? Just like you do every single time we get close to being real with each other.'  
'You didn't even give me a chance.'  
'I didn't need to.'  
'No.' Peter was raising his voice now. 'No, you didn't, because you already had Leo waiting for you. It didn't matter one bit what happened in this little game you were playing with me, because your real relationship was stowed away safely at home.'  
'No...' Assumpta tried to interject, but Peter was too worked up to listen.  
He turned to face her for the first time, and his eyes flashed with true hurt and anger.  
'How long did you wait after I left before you fell into his arms? How long, Assumpta, before you fell into his bed?' His voice cracked so much on his last sentence that he barely got the words out.

Guilt stricken again, but determined not to show it, Assumpta held his gaze.  
'He was there for me, Peter. He's always been there for me. I can depend on him. He gave up everything for me. _He _was willing to choose me over his job.'  
Catching her meaning, Peter looked away again.  
'It's not just a job, Assumpta.'  
'Oh, I know,' she said, sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

They stood in charged silence.

Finally, Peter asked dejectedly, 'So what am I supposed to do now? Just sit back and watch you play happy families with Leo?'  
'Oh, _please,'_ said Assumpta, icily. She had had just about enough of being made to feel guilty. 'Don't you dare stand there looking all forlorn like some poor innocent victim who was screwed over by a heartless woman. You just remember, Peter Clifford, that you're the one who told me there could never be anything between us. I was there; I was waiting. You could have had me in a _heartbeat_. But you didn't want me.'  
Peter looked over to her, just in time to see the first disobedient tear fall.  
'I never said I didn't want you,' he said, sincerely.  
'You went away to sit on a hill somewhere and forget me. I'd say that's a damn clear indication.'  
'I could never forget you.'

He looked at her again, like he always looked at her when he let himself go... in sad, sweet desperation.

She looked at him in fury.

Oh, what? He was being sweet now? Five seconds ago, wounded; before that, angry. It was so typical of Peter. She never knew whether she was coming or going with him. He'd give her these glimpses of the most genuine, exhilarating affection she'd ever known, and then bring her crashing down with deliberate distance, coldness, "This is it".

'_God,_ Peter! Would you ever just make up your bloody mind? You are the most unbelievable, frustrating, infuriating - '

But, of course, Peter never got to find out what he was.

He leaned in to Assumpta's beautiful, tear-stained face, and kissed her – partly because he wanted to make her stop talking; partly because he couldn't bear to be distant from her any longer. Without a second's hesitation, she kissed him back. It was passionate, a little angry... and desperate, as if they were trying to kiss away all their problems, to communicate what words had failed to say.

After a few moments, Assumpta pulled back, and said forcefully, through clenched teeth, '_Don't.'  
_Holding her face in his hands, Peter lifted it to his own, locking her in his gaze.  
'Look me in the eyes and tell me "don't",' he whispered.  
When she didn't respond, he drew her to him again.  
Somehow, kissing Peter felt strangely like coming home... only with a lot more dizziness and a much faster heart-rate. Assumpta wished she could stay there forever, just pretending the rest of the world didn't exist, like they had the night of the bombings.

Only, the real world had come knocking for them then, and it did so again now. Images of Leo asleep back at Fitzgerald's plagued Assumpta's mind, and she pulled away from Peter once more.

'I've got to go,' she said, and ran out of the church before he had the chance to stop her.

* * *

As she climbed back into bed, Leo stirred beside her.

'Where have you been?' he asked, sleepily.  
'Nowhere, love,' came her absent reply.

But he thought she smelled faintly of candles and incense...


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry it's taken a while! Uni has gone back, so I've been forced to write about the GDR, educational psychology, and other such inferior subjects :P But here it is. I hope you like it :)_

**Chapter Seven**

Assumpta sat in the cold kitchen, staring hazily into a lukewarm cup of tea. She tried to keep her mind off the mess she had made... or, rather, the mess she and Peter had made together. But it was no use. Leo had become increasingly suspicious since she came home late the other night. He kept questioning her, but not pressing her too hard, like he couldn't quite decide if he wanted to know the truth. The air between them had grown hostile, and Assumpta could barely remember the last pleasant conversation they'd had. Mostly, they just worked in silence, like indifferent colleagues.

Assumpta felt terrible about how she'd treated Leo. He loved her. He wanted to marry her; he'd told her so. And she had let him believe that she felt the same. But the truth was... she didn't love him. Pretending she did was only making them both miserable. And Leo was beginning to realise that.

Sighing, she tipped her tea down the sink. Noticing that the rain had finally stopped, she grabbed Fionn's lead. Maybe she could talk it over with him. He seemed eager enough, and he strained on his lead as she brought him through the bar.

'Just going for a walk...'  
Leo looked up from the pint glass he was wiping.  
'Should be back in about half an hour.'  
He put the glass down, and rushed around the bar.  
'Assumpta, wait.'

She paused, Fionn now jumping up and down in anticipation of some exercise. When Leo reached her, he kissed her tentatively, then pulled away with a sad smile, which she returned. They were both thinking the same thing: this would probably be their last kiss.

The rain had stopped, but it was still freezing on the street. Assumpta pulled her coat tighter around her, and set off down the road, in the opposite direction, naturally, of Saint Joseph's. But she had barely gone ten paces before she met the postman, who was looking incredibly frazzled. It was no wonder; the mail had been backed up for weeks, since the bombings. Everyone was behind on their bills, and the postal service was copping the blame.

'How are ya, Miss Fitzgerald?' he said, pulling a large wad of envelopes from his bag.  
'Fine thanks, Jim.' Assumpta lied.  
She examined the letters; they were mostly bills, but one envelope halfway down the pile caught her eye. She hastily stuffed it into her coat pocket. Then, handing the rest back to Jim, she asked if he wouldn't mind dropping them in to Leo.

She wouldn't let herself take the envelope out again until she and Fionn were a good way out of town. They entered a field, where Assumpta let Fionn off his lead to play. She sat down on a rather damp log, where just enough sunshine was breaking through the clouds to allow her to read.

Removing the letter from her pocket, she traced over the postage seal with her finger. Sent from Dublin... three and a half weeks ago. He had written this before the bombings... before she had rushed to Dublin, expecting to find him dead... before they had held each other, forgetting the world, just thankful to both be alive... before he knew that she was back with Leo, that she wasn't going to wait around for him anymore... before the other night, when he had kissed her, reminding them both of the hopelessness of wanting what they just can't have.

She ripped open the envelope, took out the letter, and unfolded it. His writing was scrawled, like he'd written it in a hurry. It could have been her imagination, but she thought the words in some places were smudged by tears. She took a deep breath, and began to read.

_Assumpta,_

_I barely know how to start this letter. I have so much to say to you, but how can I put it into words to make you understand? I'm only just beginning to understand, myself. So... sorry if it doesn't make much sense._

_It's beautiful here, Assumpta. The main conference room at the seminary has these big windows, and you can see right out into the garden. Yesterday, there were these two little birds in the tree just outside. One of them tried to fly right through the window, not realising it was glass; he smacked right into it. He was okay, though; he flew right back up into the tree. We all had a good laugh. Five minutes later, he only went and did the exact same thing again... and the other bird, well, she was just sitting in the tree, cocking her head to one side, with this sardonic, amused kind of air about her, as if to say to him 'How bloody thick are you, you stupid git?' She made me think of you._

_Not that it takes much to make me think of you. I don't think I've really thought about anything else in years. Lately, I've been thinking of your face when I told you I was going on retreat. I know I hurt you, Assumpta, and that haunts me day and night. I'm so, so sorry._

_I know I was cruel when I told you. I had to be... because, if I had let myself start to be gentle with you, I never would have been able to stop. I wouldn't have been able to say what I came to say, and I had to say it. Do you know what I mean? But I never wanted to make you cry._

_There's this priest here; his name is Father Gillan. I think even you'd like him... well, maybe. Anyway, I tried to pretend I was just like any other priest here, come simply to be refreshed, but he saw right through me. Before long, I'd told him everything... all about you. He told me about Aoife. He had fallen in love with her, see, years and years ago. But he ran away, left the parish. He was never the same after that. He told me he could never again serve God with his whole heart, because he had left a huge part of it behind with Aoife. _

_And it got me thinking, Assumpta, and it got me praying – really praying, not trying to pretend to God that everything is fine. And I realised that just because God put me on this road as a teenager, it doesn't mean He wants me on this road forever. _

_I've been like that bird, you know? I've been trying and trying to fly this one certain way, thinking it must be the only way that's right, but I just keep crashing into the window. And you're up in the tree wondering why I'm such an idiot, and God's up in heaven probably doing the same. _

_Am I getting through to you?_

_I'm trying to say that I was stupid. I was wrong. The simple truth is that I'm in love with you. I'm sorry it took me so long to realise it._

_I know I don't deserve another chance, Assumpta. I know you've spent way too long waiting for me to sort myself out. But, if you're willing to forgive me, I'm ready to spend my life making it up to you._

_Just think about it, yeah? I'll be home next week... maybe we can talk about it then?_

_Peter._

If the page wasn't already smudged by Peter's tears, it was now by Assumpta's. He had loved her; he had been going to give up the priesthood for her. But, like he had said the other night, she didn't give him a chance.

She had screwed everything up. Without knowing it, she had been so close to having all that her heart had been screaming to have for two years, and she had screwed it up. She had chosen to be with Leo... to use him to... what? Comfort her? Make Peter jealous? And now she had lost them both.

Wiping her eyes, she looked up with the idea of finding Fionn and going home. The clouds had thickened, now, and it was even colder than before.

She froze when she saw him standing there, halfway across the field, hands in his pockets, waiting for her to notice him. He must have followed her from town. Assumpta rose to her feet, as he crossed the field in large strides.

She tilted her head to meet Peter's gaze, which was unusually steady, though his voice trembled some as he said,  
'I still mean every word.'  
'Peter, I...' she sighed, 'I don't know what to say...'  
And she really didn't. A million words were racing around in her mind – _'I'm sorry', 'I forgive you', 'You're an idiot', 'I'm an idiot'... 'I love you.'  
_But she didn't have to choose. As always, their eyes said it all.  
He brushed the tears from her cheeks, and kissed her softly, before drawing her into his arms.

In the trees above, two birds chirped cheerfully, and, leaving their branches, soared heavenward.

The End :)


End file.
